


The Blazing Stone

by Merthallum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (I apologize for the ending), (but only a little) - Freeform, And angst, Dungeon, One Shot, Short One Shot, this is kind of a crack fic, with dramatic undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merthallum/pseuds/Merthallum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot: Sherlock and John have minutes to escape a dungeon that is rapidly collapsing in on them. Can they escape?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blazing Stone

The air in the dungeon was stuffed thin, and John could vaguely see the detective down the scorched hall. Around them they could hear the angry rumbling of the dungeon collapsing in on itself. Small rocks were tumbling down the walls, and dust was spat at them from all directions.

John was safe; he had a clear path to the gate, which marked their escape route. Only Sherlock hadn’t made it yet. He was trapped on the other side of the passageway.

The walls of the hall were lined with giant, rotund stones which sporadically belched fatal bursts of fire, making it impossible for a traveller to pass through without getting fried except by a stroke of luck… or genius.

“Sherlock, you’ve got to hurry, you’re running out of time!” John hollered at the detective.

“Yes, John, what a remarkable observation!” He spat back dramatically.

Suddenly a terrible rumble rolled through the corridors, shaking the walls and ground, sending larger chunks of rocks rolling down and shattering on the stone floor, and causing John to temporarily lose his footing.

Across from him he briefly saw the detective recovering from the sudden convulsion, pulling himself back up from the ground to stand on his feet, and steadying himself as another dangerous wave shook the corridors.

“Sherlock!” John called warningly while the stones continued to spout intermittent bursts of death-fire.

“It can’t be random, John, there’s got to be a pattern,” he heard Sherlock shout.

“Well then for the love of God, FIGURE IT OUT!”

“I know, I just… let me _think_!”

John fell silent, allowing the detective to work the puzzle, watching his eyes dart back and forth as one flame blew after another. His heart pummeled loudly inside his chest, competing in volume with the hissing of fire and the resounding growl of the tomb.

Another thunder came rolling through the corridor, this time sending almost boulder-sized rocks falling from the ceiling and cracking onto the ground. The dungeon shook in outrage, causing John to fall to the ground and knock his head up against a fallen rock. He was not rendered unconscious, but he did falter for several seconds, attempting to regain his stance, clumsily crawling back up against the wall.

When at last he found himself relatively stable, he sent one more desperate call down the passageway, filling it with urgency and apprehension, “Sherlock!”

“Okay, I think I have it!” the detective called in excitement, watching the flames more rigorously now.

With weary eyes, John watched him advance in calculated movements, running past one fire-breathing stone at a time, waiting at dispersed intervals until it was safe to move. John watched him with growing anticipation, preparing himself to bolt the second Sherlock got through.

Only three stones remained now. His heart beat louder and louder as the mid-way stone threw forth another gust of fire, the flames blazing for one second… two seconds… three… four… and then it was cut off. The instant that the flames died down, Sherlock started sprinting, hightailing it to the end of the hall, where John stood roughly twenty feet away.

John held himself tense, anticipation and trepidation freezing him stock still, watching as Sherlock ran the last several meters.

He was close, just a few more seconds and they’d be at the gate, running for safety.

Only that’s when the inferno hit.

The stone closest to John let forth a final wave of combustion, and the space that Sherlock had been filling only seconds ago was now engulfed in a furious fire, the heat of it forcing John to cast a protective forearm across his face.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

And it was over. The fire succeeded. Sherlock... devoured.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this is what happened to me in the board game I was playing with my dad, and I wrote this fic to let out my frustration.


End file.
